


The Chances We Missed

by ofamaranthlie



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofamaranthlie/pseuds/ofamaranthlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alexei announces his retirement, Evgeni is at a loss.  A brief examination of a rivalry that has come to an abrupt end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chances We Missed

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God, I don't even know what to say about this. I fell in love with figure skating during the Winter 2010 Olympics, and though I've fallen out of the fandom, my love for the sport has remained. Tonight on a whim, I dug up some old fanfic that I wrote back in the day. I kinda liked it, and since I figured that the Sochi Olympics are coming up and more people might jump into the fandom, I thought I'd go ahead and post some of this. ....But at the same time, I've never posted any of my RPF before, and oh lord I'm nervous, but I hope I did this justice.
> 
> Takes place after Alexei announces his retirement. Disclaimer: none of this happened, I don't own these people, etc. Written on 5/17/10.

Evgeni opens the door to his apartment and is greeted by silence. He hesitates in the doorframe, allowing his eyes to drift over the room and his belongings as if he expects to find something missing or out of place. Nothing is, of course, and it’s good to be home. After a moment, he picks up his suitcase again and finally walks in. The door closes behind him with a resounding thud, but he chooses to ignore it.

He unpacks about a quarter of his suitcase before giving up, too tired to continue and too restless to focus. He opts instead for a shower, and his eyes slide shut as the steady stream of water presses into his body, helps remove the tension that has built up within. By the time he finishes, his body is red and raw from the heat, but even that is not enough to burn away the ache. What he really needs is sleep, but he knows that he will not be able to fall asleep any time soon. Instead, he makes a cup of tea and collapses in a living room chair.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this, so restless and scattered. The competitive season just ended, and he finally has some downtime to _breathe_. There were things about the past season to be proud of, and others that he would prefer to forget altogether, but he has next season to look forward to. And next season will be – it will be different from this one, and maybe that is the problem. 

Alexei will not be there.

This should be cause for celebration. No longer will he have to constantly see that face across the ice from him, have to look up to him at the podium, have to always have thoughts about him buzzing in the back of his mind like a fly that he could never swat away. While the occasional victory over Alexei was something to savor, the losses had been hard to swallow. Never again would he lose to Alexei. And, by continuing to skate while his ex-rival (that term is foreign to his tongue) retired and did whatever he chose, he could continue to win.

He should be happy. But, slumped in his seat and idly watching steam roll off his cup, he thinks not of an Alexei-less world, but of the last time that he had seen Alexei.

_Evgeni watches in silence as Alexei paced through the room, collecting his belongings and placing them in his suitcase. It is only when the silence becomes unbearable for him that he speaks, “You’re actually quitting.”_

_Alexei does not look up at him as he tosses a few toiletries into his bag. “You think I gave that speech just for show?”_

_Evgeni bristles, and he opens his mouth to retort, but his voice fails him. It’s that silence that finally causes Alexei to glance up at him, blue eyes as unreadable (and beautiful) as ever. Although Evgeni wants to look away, he does not dare to at this time. “That’s not what I meant,” he snaps._

_Alexei says nothing to that at first, simply shrugging a little and returning to pack his things. His face is strangely calm, calmer than it normally is in such a tense situation, but Evgeni can tell that he is upset; he bites his lip occasionally, struggling for words too. “You of all people know what it’s like to be injured.”_

_Every little comment that Alexei says rubs Evgeni the wrong way, and he takes a step forward, hissing, “So that’s it? You get hurt and you give up, just like that?”_

_Alexei turns back to Evgeni, and this time there’s fire in his eyes. “Giving up? Zhenya, I’m getting my hip replaced. I don’t think that’s the same thing as ‘giving up.’”_

_Evgeni knows he’s right and should just drop it, but he’s pissed, and he can’t stop himself from continuing, “No, you’re wrong. You’re giving up because you’re **weak** , Lyosha. But that’s nothing new, is it?”_

_And at last he has provoked the reaction that he has been seeking. Alexei growls in frustration and strides forward until there is only a slight gap between their bodies. Evgeni expects Alexei to throw a punch, but instead he comes to a stop, and his face is just so close when he snarls in return, “What the hell is your problem? You’ve hated me forever, and now you want me to stay?”_

_Evgeni stares directly into those angry blue eyes that are now frighteningly close, and he almost forgets how to speak. There is a flurry of emotion on Alexei’s face – fury, exasperation, and confusion; Evgeni is used to Alexei’s ire, but not this uncertainty. It makes him anxious in return, and suddenly he wishes there was more room between them._

_“I don’t,” he murmurs at last, and his voice is too quiet for his own liking. Not confident enough._

_Alexei makes a choked sound, apparently not believing Evgeni’s words either. “Then what do you care if I go?” Alexei’s voice has fallen quieter too. There’s still anger, there’s always anger between them, but there’s something else underneath the rage that leaves Evgeni startled. Their interaction has always been loud, a cacophony of shouts that end in blood and bruises. This quietness, just like the confusion, is new._

_But the defiance is still the same, so Evgeni narrows his eyes and hisses, “I don’t care.”_

_Evgeni expects the usual: shouts, pushes, punches, and he prays for it this time, anything that would remind him of their usual fights. But instead, Alexei shakes his head just slightly and places his hands on Evgeni’s shoulders, leaning in just a fraction. Evgeni tries to lean back in return, desperate for more space between them, but Alexei will not allow it as he holds Evgeni in place._

_“Zhenya,” Alexei firmly murmurs, and Evgeni nearly shudders at how quietly his name is spoken. “Make up your mind.”_

_All Evgeni can do is stare back at Alexei’s face, unsure of what to say. All he knows is that they are far too close, and that Alexei’s eyes are such a deep shade of blue, and if he’s quiet enough, he can hear Alexei’s rough, shallow breathing. It’s all too overwhelming, and Evgeni can only shake his head, never breaking eye contact._

_“No,” he at last manages. “I can’t – I **don’t** – I don’t care.”_

_Evgeni could be wrong, but he swears that there’s something almost disappointed in Alexei’s eyes. At last he finally releases Evgeni, who promptly takes a step back. Alexei levels a look at Evgeni for just one moment before casting his eyes to the wall behind him. “Alright,” he says at last. He returns to packing in silence, and Evgeni, after watching for another moment, abruptly leaves the hotel room._

Evgeni blinks hard and raises the cup to his lips, taking a slow sip of his tea. He’s not upset about that last confrontation. No, there are other more practical reasons to be upset right now. For instance, the loss of Alexei is the loss of competition, and now there is a vacuum of power that he does not know will be filled. Evgeni is a creature of battle, of hard work, of putting blood, sweat, and tears into something and facing off against someone who has done just the same. And now, though he is certain he will win more medals, it will not be after outperforming the man that he has grown to loathe over the years. It will be a victory, but only a half-hearted one.

It makes perfect sense. That angry feeling gnawing at his stomach is just because he will miss having someone to fight against. It has nothing to do with what happened at the hotel, or what didn’t happen.

But what was supposed to happen? Alexei had looked disappointed, but why? What was Evgeni supposed to say?

 _‘That’s not what I meant.’_ Evgeni runs a thumb down his mug as he slowly exhales a long breath. What did he mean?

_I meant, it’s hard to imagine you not here with me._

It’s a heavy statement, and he’s not sure if he likes what it implies. _It’s just about competition,_ he reminds himself. As grateful as he is to be done with Alexei once and for all, it will be strange not to see him on the rink or on the podium, regardless of who won gold and who won silver. It has nothing to do with personal affairs. Just competition. Nothing more. 

He’s tired of thinking about this. Swallowing the rest of his tea, he pads into the kitchen to place the mug in the sink before walking to the bedroom. He flops onto the bed with a content sigh, and once he flicks the lights out, he pulls the blankets over him and buries his face into the pillows. Fatigue beats out mental stress and takes over, and Evgeni dozes off not long after. 

He dreams of blue.


End file.
